


Flames

by thecursedlady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bipolar!Jim, Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecursedlady/pseuds/thecursedlady
Summary: The reality was that Jim Moriarty did not believe that any one could ever really love him. He did not believe that there was someone in this world who would just be there and just hold him without thinking about more … exciting things. And as soon as the words had left his mouth he could have shot himself. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Well, this is my first Sheriarty OS. I was inspired by a post on tumblr and yeah, it just kinda happened. :3  
> Also : English is just my second-language so feel free to correct mistakes if you find any! 
> 
> Hope you like it, guys. :)
> 
> Song suggestion: Don't let me go - RAIGN (acoustic version)

It was one of those days again. The weather outside was rainy, cold, and stormy, and represented his feelings perfectly. He was curled up in front of the warm fire place in his apartment but he felt so unbelievably cold. Jim's brown eyes were empty and his pale skin seemed to be even paler. High-Highs followed by Low-Lows. Manic depression. Bipolar.

He felt like shooting someone, ripping their heart out just to see the blood floating out of their body. But the worst part of it all was that he dreamed of doing those things to himself, not to a random person in London. The gun in his hand was warmed up from his body and he looked at it with a smile on his face. Jim could end it right now. He wouldn’t need to feel anymore. Or care.

“End Game. End ... the … game,” he whispered hoarsely.

“B-Boss? Are you alright?,” Sebastian, his first in command, asked and entered the room. His heart ached a little as he saw his boss laying there, curled up like a baby. "Shall I call someone, Boss? I could-"  
“Leave me alone, Moran.” The brown-haired sniper nodded and pulled his phone out as he exited the living room.

**It’s not a good day today. He’s playing with his gun. –SM**

To be honest, Sebastian didn’t believe that he would show up. Or even read this message properly. Besides, why would he of all people care?

:: :: :: ::

Sherlock sighed softly as he read the message on his phone. He expected this a while ago due to the fact that Moriarty was … unbelievably happy in the last five weeks. He laughed more often, stole two or three kisses from his favourite detective and only blew up half the amount of people he hated.

“John, I need to go out,” he called as he slipped into his dark grey coat – underneath it he was still in his pyjamas but he couldn’t care less. Moriarty never cared about his clothes anyway. He would just smile and say something like Well, only one of us can be the good old-fashioned villain, right?

“Where are you going?”

Sherlock smiled a little and shook his head. “You can’t ever know, Dr. Watson. I don’t know when I’ll be back, don’t wait for me,” he called and was out of the door before John could have said Potato. He shrugged slightly and sat down to watch TV. What was it with Sherlock these days?

:: :: :: ::

Moriarty let out a little sob even if he did not know why. It was not like he was feeling anything anyway, he was completely numb and he hated and appreciated it at the same time. The wood was making loud cracking noises which seemed to calm him down a little bit. And then, suddenly, there was this smell he would recognize anywhere. Jim shook his head in disbelief, demanding himself to stop thinking about the detective. But the smell was in the air and he couldn’t do anything about it so he just sighed and inhaled deeply.

It was a mix of apple and wood, cinnamon and cigarette smoke. He smiled. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?,” the detective whispered and laid down behind the criminal, slowly wrapping his arms around him. “Sherlock,” he moaned and turned himself so he could bury his face in Sherlock’s chest. “What is it, my love?” His long fingers stroked Jim's brown hair and he pressed a little kiss on the forehead of the broken boy.

Jim said nothing and he didn’t need to because Sherlock could understand him without any spoken words. He knew exactly what Jim was feeling in this moment and it felt as if his heart was ripped out of his chest. He couldn’t stand it when Jim was in pain. His sweet not-so-innocent Jim.

“What do you want me to do, love?” he mumbled into Jims hair and pulled the criminal closer to himself, desperate to feel every part of his lover. “Just hold me, would you?” It broke Sherlock’s heart. His voice was so small, so hopeless.

The reality was that Jim Moriarty did not believe that any one could ever really love him. He did not believe that there was someone in this world who would just be there and just hold him without thinking about more … exciting things. And as soon as the words had left his mouth he could have shot himself. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t.

“Always, James.”


End file.
